


A Child of Ten Thousand

by chaichaiwu



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaichaiwu/pseuds/chaichaiwu
Summary: This fanfic is based on the real diary of Ralph Josselin, vicar of Earls Colne, and the researches of Adrian Wilson who provides a lot details about the ritual of childbirth in Early Modern England in her articles and books, including the setting of labour room, the recipes, the using of herbs, the emergency baptism and the role of the female relatives and the midwife.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	A Child of Ten Thousand

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is based on the real diary of Ralph Josselin, vicar of Earls Colne, and the researches of Adrian Wilson who provides a lot details about the ritual of childbirth in Early Modern England in her articles and books, including the setting of labour room, the recipes, the using of herbs, the emergency baptism and the role of the female relatives and the midwife.

"Merciful Lord, and heavenly Father, by whose gracious gift mankind is increased: We beseech thee, assist with thy blessing these two persons, that they may both be fruitful in procreation of children, and also live together so long in godly love and honesty, that they may see their children christianly and virtuously brought up, to thy praise and honour; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." - The Book of Common Prayer 1662

October 1643, London

William Cullen was awakened from sleep by his wife, Eleanor.

"The baby is coming. "The pastor heard his wife saying

He sat up immediately, delighted. The moon was so bright that it shone through the crack between the curtains, and the silver ray of light rested on the little wooden cross on the wall. He took a glimpse at the cross which painted silver by the moonlight and remembered that Jesus was born in the middle of the night.

"God bless." William gave his wife a quick kiss on the forehead, then threw on his clothes and jumped out of bed.

The cold that greeted him when he opened the door made Wilhelm shiver, his hurried clothes and thin trousers were no protection against the cool night wind. Hurrying along, he did not notice the small, moonlit puddle in the middle of the uneven stone road. He accidentally stepped in and staggered, cursing to himself that the soiled water had soaked his shoes and ankles which made him shiver more from the cold.

He knocked on the doors of several neighbours. Goodman Mr Thomas Burt was willing to lead a horse to help him fetch a midwife.

"Drink it honey" Elinor's sister, Mary, pushed the steaming caudle in her hand.

Mary had done some work while William was away. She had drawn the curtains, fixed the fireplace, and blocked the keyhole. Jane, a neighbour – came and prepared the hot caudle.

Eleanor should have been accompanied by either hers or William's mother, unfortunately, both of them had passed away. Two days before, Mary came to stay with her sister.

Eleanor managed to take a sip of the caudle, but the smell made her sick.

She didn't hate sweet. Who would hate expensive sugar? However, the rapid warming room, the beginning of frequent labour pains had made her heart beat faster and faster with tension, blurred her eyesight and hearing, and made everything hard to swallow.

“Don't be afraid, my dear. It won't be long before you have the baby in your arms.” Mary fondly touched Eleanor's hand. Then she reached out to brush away the lock of hair which had felled on her forehead, combed her light blonde hair with her fingers.

"We've done everything that needs to be done." Mary continued to comfort her.

"Everything that should be done has been done." Eleanor repeated these words in her mind.

Over the past few days, she's been trying all the recipes she can find to help her childbirth, broth, fried apples, figs, goose oil, flaxseed...Mary helped her to take a warm herbal bath. William prayed for her and her unborn child every morning and evening.

"God bless the child", thought Eleanor.

"Have you decided on a name?" Mary sat down in a chair beside the bed.

"I told you once. It’s Carlisle." Eleanor forced herself to take another mouthful of the caudle, and this time it tasted less strange.

"Ah. Carlisle." Mary waved her stubby fingers. Mary had a fuller figure while Eleanor was much thinner. "John, Henry, Richard, Thomas, James... Of all the names, you chose a place. Does William agree?" 

"Oh, he must." Eleanor laughed, caressing the top of her swollen belly. "I think it's a beautiful name." Eleanor closed her eyes and imagined the soft little baby with William's dark brown curls and her blue eyes in her arms.

"And when they asked him, ‘Young man what's your name?'. Your boy would answer 'It’s Carlisle, my lord.' The man would say, ‘I'm not asking where you're from, son.'" Mary laughed, the fire shining brightly on her high cheekbones. Jane, standing nearby, giggled as well.

"You must not play jokes on my child like that." Eleanor’s nerve was eased when she heard Mary's joke.

"What if it's a girl?" Mary drew her chair nearer to the bed, and the old chair creaked.

"I know it‘s a boy," said Eleanor, interrupted by a sudden pain in her lower abdomen and back. The pain was much more acute than before she clutched Mary's hand.

"Maybe it is a boy," Mary muttered, shaking her pinched finger. Jane lit two more candles.

When William heard the midwife arrive and close the door, he got down on his knees and prayed.

"Pray that God will arrange all gifts so that we may rejoice in his salvation. I pray that my wife will succeed. Praise the merciful Father."

Early the next morning, Eleanor's friends Ann, Catherine, and her aunt Margaret, after giving William a half-cooked pie, brought more candles into the closed room where his wife was.

As Eleanor's moans and screams grew louder, William's grip on the cross began to shake uncontrollably. It was not the first time he had heard a woman cry, but when it was his wife, the pain of sympathy was magnified a thousand times.

When he heard the voices and non-stop footsteps behind the locked door, he sensed something was wrong. Every time Eleanor cried, William's heart trembled a little, and so did his hand.

Finally, he could not handle and went out to sit on the doorstep. Even so, he could hear every scream of pain from his wife.

The prayer he uttered grew lower and faster. He could not remember how many times the prayer had been said, the sun rose higher and higher above him.

Then all was quiet. William got up quickly and went inside. The bedroom door was still locked. He could hear women speaking, wringing the towel, but he could hear Eleanor's voice nor the baby's cry.

He could not refrain from shouting into the room, nobody answered. He sat on the floor, clutching his cross.

When the door finally opened in front of him, he looked up and saw Mary's face covered with sweat and tears. He struggled to get up from the ground, feeling dizzy for moving too fast.

"Oh, William." cried Mary, making way for him. 

His vision was still blurred, he could smell the mixture of wine, herbs, almond oil, burning wood and blood.

The curtains were closed, blocking out most of the light that came through the window. Candles were still burning in every corner of the room, for they had been burning for so long that a great quantity of melted wax had dripped onto the floor and table solidified into several piles.

He stumbled to Eleanor's bed, where he could see the awful crimson on the sheet beneath her, and even the ends of the thick piece of rope which she had pulled were stained with blood. A wooden bucket of herbal water beside the bed was filled with strips of cloth that were still slowly seeping out into the blood which had turned the water pink.

"No, no, no." Cried William, sitting on the edge of the bed, and drawing his wife into his arms. Her lips had lost their colour, she breathed lightly and unevenly, and no matter how loud William called her, she did not open her eyes. He looked up in despair, tears already running down his cheeks.

"Please don't." William pressed his tear-stained cheeks and lips to his wife's dishevelled, wet blond hair. Her forehead was so cold. He pulled the blanket over Eleanor's body and tucked the edges, trying to warm her up.

Then William saw the little motionless body in the corner of the room, his heart was broken.

"How can I live in this world without you?" He held her hands, praying for a miracle to happen.

William was thrilled to find that Eleanor had opened her blue eyes. Before he could smile and say a word to her, she raised her arm as if to touch his cheek, but she never reached his face. The next moment, all the light that had once shone in those pretty blue eyes was gone.

William let out a growl and gripped his wife's slender wrists as if trying to pull her departed soul back into the body.

He had failed, and his Eleanor was gone forever. His fingers trembled so hard that it was difficult to close her eyelids.

In misty white tears, William thought of the baby in the corner. He ran to check on him. The poor baby was wrapped tightly in linen bands, covered in blood, struggling to breathe. William knew that he wouldn’t make it.

"His soul, my boy's soul." That voice echoed in William's head over and over again.

Holding the baby in one hand, he took a handful of clean water from another bucket and poured it over the baby's forehead. The water trickled down the baby's light blond hair and touched his closed eyes, but he remained still.

"And now I baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. We sincerely beg you that in the same way he may be raised again, having shared in the death of your son."

William laid the tiny person on his wife’s chest and kissed her on the lips for the last time.

At the moment he was about to leave the room, the child let out a faint cry.

* * *

In the flickering candlelight, the restless baby finally cried itself to sleep. William took out his diary. He has just buried his wife. He had long since dried his tears, but the flood of pain would not pour out until his alone. His hands trembled and he knocked over the ink. He simply wiped the table and then picked up his pen. He needed to write down what he wanted to say to Eleanor and to God.

"This day a quarter past two in ye afternoone my Eleanor fell asleepe in the Lord her soule past into that rest where the body of Jesus, and ye soules of the sts are; she was then 25. y of age; my soule had aboundant cause to blesse God for her. Shee was full of wisedome, gravity, knowledge, sweet expressions of God, tender hearted & loving, an obedient wife. Thy memory is and will bee sweete unto mee."

The day before, William cleaned Eleanor's body, changed her clothes and combed her tangled blonde hair. 

How beautiful she has always been. William thought,

He remembered the first time he had met her, passing her on the way to church on a Sunday morning. Her bright blue eyes hidden in the shadow of her hat had betrayed her. Her blond curls sparkled in the sunlight. On their wedding night, she taught him a French song. He remembered the reflection of the flickering gold and red candle flames in her eyes as she sang and the blush on her cheeks. Her wavy, Waist-length blond curls fell on her back and chest, swaying slightly to the rhythm of her song.

Now William felt that he had forgotten the look of those blue eyes.

He swallowed as if to stop the tears from coming out of his eyes. He wrote

"When my Eleanor dyed, my heart trembled, and was perplexed in the dealings of the Lord so sadly with us, and desiring God not to proceed on against us with his darts and arrows; looking backe into my wayes, and observing why God hath thus dealt with mee. the Lord followed mee with that sin no more, lest a worse thing happen unto thee and the intimacon of God was he would proceed no farther against mee or mine, and he would assist mee with his grace if I clave to him with a full purpose of heart, which I resolve; oh my God helpe mee. oh my God faile mee not. for in thee doe I put my trust. I am determined to give my whole heart to the Lord for his grace to return my sonne to me."

He glanced at the sleeping child, a mixture of anger, sadness, and relief bubbling in his chest. The priest wrote one last sentence in his diary just before the candle burnt out.

"He is a soldier and will be one to defend the eternal kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."


End file.
